Camisa 74
by Arteset
Summary: ONESHOT. Egypt fared no better and that much he could relate to Mexico. What he would do for a good night's sleep and for this nausea to end.


A/N: This is a work of fiction based on a true event. I don't own Himayura's characters.

Left, right, around.

The soccer ball went nowhere near the net. Mr. Mexico was wasting his time, running like a moron. If he were any good, he would have scored during the earlier game the nations had and not frolic in the empty soccer field.

Right, around, left.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOL!" Egypt flinched, then curled inward and lowered his head. He was already doubled over, clutching his stomach because he was a nauseous mess and that obnoxious hothead had to belch out his trademark soccer response. The devil, no the _devourer_, take his Latino ass back to the Aztec empire where he could suck down on all the goddamn chocolate he always whined about.

Egypt had also played during the game but during the second half his stomach cramped up. Oh sure, America was more than happy to send him and Canada packing home because quote unquote they weren't any fun now. Japan was kind enough to sit out the rest of the game with him and try to make small talk. Anything to get his mind off the waves of pain and the fact that they were sitting in an Oscar Meyer Weenie dugout (courtesy of course of America's soccer fields) while the game finished up.

And America's team lost.

But being good sports, Jamaica and Brazil treated everyone to drinks. As the countries retreated Japan turned to Egypt, "Why don't we go back to my house?"

"I don't want to be a bother," Egypt murmured, "I can make it on my own. You go ahead. Thank you."

"Well…call me if you need anything." Japan stood up and turned to leave. He was hesitant to leave but a sick Egypt was a moody Egypt who assumed he was more resilient than he really was. AHHH, Japan found himself thinking before shaking his head and continuing his way home, half hoping Egypt would change his mind. Maybe he should call Turkey.

"You should go home."

Egypt snapped out of his daydream and so did his stomach. It lurched and Egypt curled inward again. His water bottle was nowhere to be found.

"Why don't you leave me alone Mexico?" Egypt hissed.

"Can't. Japan asked me to look out for you," Mexico sat down next to him and offered him a full water bottle. Egypt, knowing better than to guzzle it down like he were stranded in a king's tomb and miracously came across a heavenly lake, sipped his water and ignored Mexico's foot tapping. And the Latino's deep breathing. And the radiating stink of tacos and Gatorade.

"And watch the animosity, grandma says anger irritates the stomach." Everything the brunette said came from some grandmother or mother or aunt Egypt had never met. Mexico may have been led by men, but his morals were definitely shaped by these proverbial women.

"Leave," Egypt waved him off but Mexico grabbed his hand. Egypt narrowed his eyes but said nothing. Deep-fried, piñata chasing fr-

"You know," Mexico interrupted his thoughts, "you're not the only one with stomach issues." Egypt rolled his eyes, when was Mexico _not_ in a food coma?

"Yeah I know what you are thinking, this _ranchero_ eats like a pig, probably finds himself in a coma two or three times a week. Well, you'd be right but what I meant…" He trailed off and Egypt understood.

Lately Mexico was at war with his people, his ninos as he fondly referred to them. They were hurting him real bad. No one knew of the migraines, the pain felt in the very marrow of his bones and his insomnia. No one was hurting Mexico worse than himself. The scratches that scabbed but hadn't scarred were on his face but you couldn't even tell with his doofus grin.

Egypt fared no better and that much he could relate to Mexico. What he would do for a good night's sleep and for this damn nausea to end. What he would offer for his people, his children, to coexist peacefully, even with Americans.

Mexico suddenly stands up, dusts his embarrassingly shiny white shorts and extends his hand.

"I'll take you home amigo, get you some pepto-b and into bed." Egypt rolled his eyes again, Mexico was no Latin Lover and it would take more than nausea and pink medicine to get him laid. But he allowed himself to be helped off the benches of the weenie-shaped dugout and accompanied home.

"_A black day for football," FIFA called it._

"_One of the deadliest incident's in the sport's history."_

_74 dead._

Egypt had no time for getting sick. His arrival home to the terrible news meant medicine, a quick shower, and meeting with officials; Mexico helped with first aid while Egypt went to and fro with the president.

It had been a game between home team Al-Masri and Cairo's Al-Ahly. The fans went rampant and police did nothing. Or maybe they just couldn't. You try stopping a riot successfully.

Egypt felt sick of hearing the press and seeing faces. Some accusatory and some grieving. The worst were the smooth features of the apathetic face. Maybe it was only a self-defense mask for a frail person who didn't know how to feel.

Egypt returned to his hotel room that night and vomited the people's hatred. He cried marbles-sized tears, curled up against his smooth bed sheets while Mexico smoothed his hair and stubbornly pressed nasty medicine goop to his mouth.

Hiccupping for the last time, he swallowed the goop and washed it down with more Gatorade. He worried over everything, and even with this tragedy he couldn't help but worry what was in the brick-colored concoction prepared by a man who believes in _curanderos_. He drifted in and out of consciousness, wondering whether he wanted night to drag on or morning to come quicker. But at around dawn, Mexico muttered,

"Can't even have a soccer game in peace. We can't do anything right. Always fighting. Sports turning to riots. What next? Oh right. Schools in my country with six months of school and gun drills for the remainder of the year. Soon we won't be able to leave our houses. Soon…"

"Wha wha?" Egypt babbled, half awake. Mexico scoots closer and strokes Egypt's hair again.

"Nada, mi amigo, nada…."

A/N: What I know about this tragedy was from the news, honestly. So I have my biases, yes, but I mean no disrespect. Took me a while to upload this.


End file.
